Burn You
by whovianlord
Summary: Also available on AO3. I will burn the heart out of you.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock walked down the shadowed alleyway; stalking his prey. The person he was hunting had killed innocent men and women and then walked over their cold corpses in order to find his next warm bodied victim. He would drug them, slit their throats and then watch them as they bled to death; begging for survival or praying that death would come and take them. Sherlock was fighting for justice on behalf of so many families who were searching for answers.

Well, that was the official reason anyway. The real reason: this man had tried to kill the one person Sherlock actually cared about. Dr. John H. Watson M.D. Formally of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and the only man who could force him to wear a ridiculous gold band on his ring finger. Although he disapproved of such sentiments, he wore it willingly if it meant that he was tied to John "'till death due them part".

The hooded figure Sherlock had been following suddenly turned left and sprinted up a small, damp staircase which led to the top of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He followed his target to the top of the flight of stairs and out onto the open roof top.

"Here we are at last. You and me. And our problems. The final problem."

Sherlock turned towards the voice. ##Deep... masculine... Irish?... upper class... no... middle class... worked his way up... consulting criminal... MORIARTY## He saw Moriarty sitting on the ledge of the roof, in a tight fitting suit, holding a phone and listening to what sounded like a man screeching in falsetto. "James Moriarty, I presume?"

"In one Mr. Holmes."

"To what do I owe this displeasure?" Sherlock drawled.

Moriarty sat up and glared at his nemesis, "He lived."

"Who lived?"

He stood and slowly circled Sherlock, never breaking eye contact, "Dr. Watson."

"Naturally he lived. I assured it."

"And that's just the thing, Sherlock. The dead are always late; in every sense of the word. Johnnyboy was supposed to be on a plane set to explode over Germany."

Sherlock turned to Moriarty and murmured huskily, "Lucky escape."

"That may be. But, I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"About wha...?"

Sherlock never got to finish his sentence as Moriarty pulled him down to his height and pressed his lips against his. Moriarty threaded his fingers through Sherlock's hair and pulled to bring him to his knees. "If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you," he hissed against Sherlock's neck, "I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock growled.

"But, we both know that's not quite true. Look at what I can do to you." Moriarty bit Sherlock's neck and cupped the growing mound that was visible in his pants.

"Laters, babe."


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't believe you would be so heartless!" John screamed as Sherlock walked into the flat.

"What? What have I done?"

John reared back and punched Sherlock square across the jaw, causing him to fall to the ground and leaving a very satisfactory red mark.

"Don't you even try to deny it, Sherlock. Your lips are still red and you have a hickey on your neck."

Sherlock struggled to sit up and gasped as John switched on the TV. ##So this is why you're so angry.## On the screen in front of him was a video of him and Moriarty kissing on the rooftop of the hospital. Sherlock felt a surge of anger as he saw Moriarty wink at the camera and cup his erection.

"That bastard filmed us! How dare him!" he hissed.

"You're more concerned about the fact that he filmed you, then the fact that you cheated on me in the first place? He's not the one you should be calling a bastard!"

John shook his head in disgust and turned to walk away when Sherlock stood up, grabbed his shoulders and tried to meet his gaze.

"John. How could you think that I would willingly cheat on you? Moriarty forced himself on me. He is nothing. He means nothing."

"I saw what you were doing, Sherlock. Don't act like you weren't turned on by his kisses. His touches. His words. And don't you dare say he meant nothing to you. You had to throw yourself off of a hospital in order for you to get away from him!"

John pushed Sherlock away and ran into the bedroom they used to share. He grabbed his old army duffel bag from the back of the wardrobe and started stuffing it with any clothes he could find. He didn't care whose clothes they were. He looked up to see Sherlock leaning against the door-frame.

"Please, John." he begged.

John continued his packing and addressed his husband with a voice as cold as ice.

"Thing is, Sherlock. I have dealt with so much crap from you. I shot a man, I was tied to a chair with an arrow pointed at my girlfriend's head, I had enough explosives to bring down 221b strapped to my body, I had American C.I.A. Agents point a gun at my head, became your human guinea pig and had to watch you kill yourself, only for you to then return three years later expecting to pick up where we left off. There is only so much us normal minded people can take and you are pushing me to the edge of sanity."

Sherlock walked into their bedroom and blocked his husband's path to the duffel bag.

"John, don't leave me."

"Then answer me this, Sherlock. Did you even stop for a moment to think about us? Think about what this would do to me?"

Sherlock dropped his head and shook it. He hadn't felt guilty about what happened. He had wanted to come under Moriarty's hands. He had wanted to finish what they started.

"Okay, then. One last question. You have people who love you. Don't you see that? You don't need to constantly risk your life to prove that you're clever. Lestrade, Molly, Mrs Hudson, me. Are we not enough?"

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and bent down to kiss him. It was chaste and tender. John pushed him away and grabbed his bag from behind his husband.

"John! Please, I love you. You know I do. He is nothing to me. This is what he wants. Moriarty filmed us so he could show you and tear us apart. You want revenge on Moriarty. Show him nothing can tear us apart. Prove him wrong."

Sherlock was practically begging and on the verge of tears. John tore off his wedding ring and threw it at Sherlock.

"You fucking bastard!" he screamed. John glared at his former lover and sighed; seeing the genuine pain in his eyes.

"Get out."

"W-Wh-What?" Sherlock stammered.

"You heard me," John growled. "Get out. You need to learn to live a little. Come out of that fantasy of living on the edge where you can't get hurt. Where you can only fall. And, so, until you do. You're leaving."

John addressed Sherlock using his army persona. What had previously turned Sherlock on now scared him.

"OUT! NOW! You're not getting another warning. Don't you dare even consider returning until you've sorted out whatever shit is going on with you right now."

He stared at Sherlock; eyes full of hate, anger, despair. He was tempted to hit him, kick him, and do whatever it took to bring back the man he was in love with.

"Okay... okay. I'll go." Sherlock grabbed his coat and walked out of the apartment.

As soon as he heard the front door close, John ran upstairs into his old, now rarely used, bedroom and collapsed onto the floor.

"What have I done?"


	3. Chapter 3

John had always known that Sherlock was artistic, but this was something different. While clearing out his ex-lover's room after their heart wrenching breakup, John had found a notebook titled "John Watson". Inside it were deductions, drawings, sheet music and poems... all about or dedicated to him. The first few pages were full of what seemed to be deductions in poetic form. The next twenty or thirty were full of drawings of him... naked, half clothed, asleep, and reading. Is that really what he looked like? He then started flicking through sheet music. He had no doubt the resulting score was amazing. After the music there were only blank pages. John flicked through the rest of the notebook until, on the last page, he found a poem. For some reason still unknown to him, he started reading it aloud.

"Don't leave me again, John  
Don't silence me with your poisonous words  
Why is it you feel when it is I that should?  
I should be turning you away  
Telling you to run  
Why can't you see what I see?  
"Because I'm an idiot, remember?"  
I wish I had never cursed you with that title.  
Not even my kisses can silence your tongue.

"I am not worthy of your grace  
Yet I still feel the need to possess you, mark you  
My brother doesn't understand  
I always hated life  
I would've welcomed death..."

"...Until you fell in step with me."

John gasped and dropped the notebook as he spun around. Leaning against the door frame, just as he had done the day he left, was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock?" he whispered.

"Yes, Watson. It is indeed me."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to collect my things... I had been informed you were doing a bit of spring cleaning."

Sherlock had never been very good at humour.

John was becoming angry. Angry with himself for becoming so sentimental over a notebook and angry with Sherlock, for coming back to the flat with no intention of righting the wrong that had been committed.

"Take them then. I had no intention of keeping anything in relation to you anyway."

John stormed past Sherlock and sank down into his chair. His head hurt. After all they'd been through, after all that had happened, did Sherlock have no guilt? He himself shouldn't feel guilty. It wasn't him who had submitted to the consulting criminal.

"John."

John looked down at his lap and refused to meet his husband's - ex husband's - eyes.

"What is it Sherlock?"

##Don't fall for his voice. Don't fall for his smile. Don't fall for his words. Don't fall for his eyes. Don't fall for his touch.##

"That isn't the only reason why I came here."

"Is it not?"

"You know perfectly well that it isn't. And I would prefer for you to be looking at me when I say what I am about to say."

John looked up from his lap to see Sherlock on his knees in front of him.

"What are you doing Sherlock?" he hissed.

"What I never did. What I should have done."

John just stared as Sherlock pulled his formally discarded wedding ring from his pocket.

"I have never known anyone like you. You put up with me, when everyone else on this planet would have run away. You helped me when I thought all hope was lost. You kissed me, you healed me, you loved me when I thought that you would had abandoned me. John Hamish Watson... Will you do me the honour of taking me back?"

Sherlock was in tears. He looked like a lost child. He always held himself twenty years older then he actually was, but now, his real age was showing.

"What about Moriarty?" John whispered.

"Dead."

"How?"

"Is that of any relevance?"

"No. I guess not. And yes."

"Yes?"

Sherlock looked up, hope radiating throughout his entire body.

"Yes."

John smiled and dropped to his knees in front of him. He cupped his lover's cheeks in his hands and brought their lips together. Sherlock almost immediately pulled away and dropped his head in shame. He sobbed violently and gripped John as if he were a lifeline.

"John. I am forever indebted to you. I owe you my life. Thankyou."


End file.
